


Incubi

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Curses, Don't Read This, Ficlet, M/M, Slurs, WTF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:27:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27381178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: “Nyx is cursed by an evil witch to have a greedy booty and only true love's first creampie can break the spell.”
Relationships: Cor Leonis/Nyx Ulric
Comments: 15
Kudos: 49





	Incubi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MistressOfLions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressOfLions/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.
> 
> A/N: She fucking dared me

Cor’s quarters in the Citadel aren’t all that fancier than Nyx’s own apartment, though the marble ceiling does draw his eyes. He stares up at it, lost in the black rivers that snake through the white like lightning, glistening in the dim starlight through the cocked-aside curtains. Those curtains are plain, purple, too long for the window and crumbled atop the desk pushed underneath. A number of old, banged-up pieces of hardwood furniture line the relatively wide room, making it feel more cramped than it is. The surfaces are cluttered with paperwork, antique weaponry, and the crumb-covered dishes from rushed snacks squeezed in amidst work. It’s messier than he expected, but very homely. _Warmer_ than his own place. 

But that could be the company. The old bed feels obscenely comfortable, wrinkled pillows absolutely divine, the cotton sheets tossed across his ankles as soft as satin. The dark hair along Cor’s right leg scratches Nyx’s skin, propped over his left knee. Cor’s hand is by his elbow. Cor’s eyes are closed, but he can’t be asleep, just resting, _basking_ , enjoying the silence after their heavy panting and whining and the wet slapping sounds of flesh on flesh. Nyx’s throat is still sore from screaming. He hasn’t had a good pounding like that in _ages_ , even though he stumbles out of a different man’s bedroom every second day. 

He should’ve known that _Cor the Immortal_ would be the best of them. He was perfection in every way—hard, long, virile, _strong_ —even slightly smaller, he pinned Nyx down with ease and bit bruises into his neck that he’ll proudly wear for days. The evidence of their debauchery is still leaking down Nyx’s thighs—he can feel it slicking beneath his rear and gluing his cheeks to the sheets. His rubbed-raw ass is throbbing, stretched channel dripping more out with every passing second. He realizes with a wince that that’ll make things harder—that he can’t just throw his pants back on and leave. He’ll have to ask for a shower, or at least a towel. The commander really did a number on him. 

That commander lets out a long breath, eyes finally flickering open, and the movement draws Nyx’s interest. He watches the dazed pleasure settle on Cor’s handsome features and is struck, once again, by just _how_ handsome he is. How beautiful, how brave. Nyx has always admired him. It’s easy to see why all the glaives look up to him, and that simmering esteem makes the butterflies in Nyx’s chest all the more active. It’s going to be hell to leave. 

But Nyx has to, because he always does. Always will. The need in him boils up, breaks him down, drives him into the arms of whoever will have him, then he fucks himself raw on their cock and does it all again, because it’ll _never be enough._ He craves sex like food, like oxygen. Nyx’s body will push up of its own accord, hands scrambling for soiled clothes just so he can crawl out and find some other bed to climb into.

Except his body isn’t moving. He’s lying prone across Cor’s bed, right on the edge, because they’re both too big to fit properly. He’s looking at the man he trains with almost every day, and he isn’t burning for someone else. 

When he pushes himself up, it’s out of habit, not desperation. He sits there, in a puddle of his and Cor’s mingled mess, and Cor glances at him, lightly frowning. It’s not the same stern expression he’d have in the courtyard, but it is his typical smooth demeanor, unfazed even by this. Nyx should say, _I have to go_ , but somehow blurts out instead, “Towel?”

Cor lifts a brow and asks, “What?”

Nyx squirms. Suddenly, with the passion burned away, and just the two of them there naked, nowhere near the strangers Nyx is used to, it’s awkward. Not painfully, but odd. Nyx glances down between his spread legs, because he can’t bring himself to scold his commander for leaking all over him. 

Cor snorts. He mutters, “Sorry,” and sounds bizarrely sincere. He shrugs against the mattress and adds, “I tend to do that. Figured it might be a side effect of the crystal’s power, and gotta say, your load bolsters that theory.”

Nyx can feel his cheeks heating. He came more than he ever has. But Cor says it like he hasn’t slept with many glaives to confirm that theory earlier. _Nyx has_.

He should be doing it now. Seeing if Luche or Libertus are still awake and willing. But _he doesn’t want to go._

“We don’t have to talk about this again, you know,” Cor says, like that’s the real problem—like Nyx is uncomfortable because he banged a coworker and won’t be able to look into Cor’s gorgeous eyes again on the battlefield. He pushes up onto his elbows, groaning as he sits, then resting against the wooden headboard next to Nyx, shoulder to shoulder. It drags his leg across Nyx’s, but he makes no move to fully detangle. Or to cover either of them. Their spent cocks stay out, soaked in lube and cum, their bodies shimmering with drying sweat. “I know it was inappropriate. I don’t know what came over me...”

Nyx seduce him, like Nyx always does, because sometimes he feels like he’ll die if someone doesn’t _fuck him_. And he knows and accepts that and was prepared to be unsatisfied anyway for the rest of his life.

Except he feels _so satisfied_ , so spent and _good_ , and it’s crashing his system. He doesn’t know how to handle it. 

He remembers that one cackling monster of an Imperial ‘scientist’ saying this would never happen. That after the experiments, even if he did ever escape and go crawling back to Lucis, he’d never be anything more than Regis’ filthy whore. He didn’t understand it then, sneered and denied it, drove a knife into the man’s chest before breaking out of the transport and crossing the border. He’ll always remember the mocking jests of fairy tale fail-safes—things that could alter his new programming. _True love to break the curse._ The scientist had laughed to his grave, because he didn’t believe in love any more than the broken MTs lining his walls or the glaive strapped in his cell.

Nyx has been fighting all of it for so many years that he doesn’t know what to do in its absence and finds himself dumbstruck, numb without the craving. 

Cor quietly asks, “Are you going to go?” And maybe it’s because he’s heard the rumours and knows that Nyx always does. Nyx opens his mouth and struggles for words.

He wants to ask if he can stay. But when he turns to look at Cor and stares into those fierce eyes, he already knows his answer. So he says, “No,” and lets his head fall onto Cor’s shoulder. 

Cor’s arm tucks around him. It makes him feel safer than even the crystal’s power. The grin that slowly stretches across Cor’s lips is both languid and feral and makes Nyx’s heart beat faster. 

“You don’t need a towel, then,” Cor notes, pecking Nyx’s stubble-covered cheek. “I’ll clean you up.”

The next kiss falls lower, turns into a long lick down his throat, across his chest, and Nyx arches up with a gasp, hungry on his own and the curse all but gone.


End file.
